


Mr Whiskers

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Utter trash, crowziraphale, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:43:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crowley has a cat. No, he doesn't talk to it, thank you very much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley talks to his cat. What more can I say? Fluffy, literally. Enjoy.

Crowley sighed, running his hands through his hair. He had gotten quite flustered in his conversation, which was rather embarrassing. He resumed taking, after a long pause.

“So anyway,” he continues, “the stupid bugger is _about_ to say something, I know it, but he doesn’t! And when I ask him about it, he pretends it never happened.”

The smooth black cat makes a small enquiring noise, nudging it’s head against the demon’s hand.

“I’m glad you understand,” he said, somewhat ironically, somewhat genuinely. The cat purred, content on Crowley’s sleek couch, surrounded by pristine plants.  Crowley briefly imagined what it would be like to be a cat. It’d be rather nice, but so boring. Nothing to do nowhere to go. While it would be lovely, Crowley wouldn’t be able to stand it.

A slight tinge of embarrassment tinged Crowley’s cheeks. Was he really talking to his cat? What sort of demon was he? Heck, he shouldn’t even have had it in the first place. But somewhere in the dark recesses of his cold heart, he had felt pity.

He decided that if anyone asked, he was using it to tempt someone, into some sort of evil plan. Yes, that was it.

But then there was it’s name. Why on earth had he decided to name it Mr Whiskers? It was ruddy embarrassing. What a stupid, cliché name. He should have named it Shadow, or Terror, or Killer, or something of the sort. But no, his idiotic brain had decided to go with _Mr Whiskers._

He blamed Aziraphale.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t notice a certain angel entering his flat. Which was locked, so perhaps Aziraphale wasn’t as angelic as he seemed.

“Crowley?” he called out. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one!” exclaimed Crowley guiltily, trying to hide the furry feline before the angel entered the room.

Too late. He strolled through the door, in all his tartan clad glory, and immediately locked his eyes on the cat, which was curled on the couch.

Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley!” he exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me you had a cat!”

He immediately rushed over to the fluffy creature, stroking it and practically making it drool in pleasure. Crowley glared at the angel, folding his arms and trying to pretend he wasn’t possessive over a stupid cat. His yellow eyes shone so brightly against his sunglasses that the plastic nearly melted.

Oblivious, Aziraphale turned to Crowley. “What’s it’s name?” he asked, still ecstatic about the feline. Crowley blinked, then quickly muttered, “Erm, Shadow.”

The angel sighed. “Of course. I think it would suit a cuter name. Like…Mr Whiskers. Or something like that.”

Crowley blushed.

Remembering something, Crowley asked, “Aren’t you allergic to cats?”

Aziraphale looked around shiftily. “Who were you talking to before?” he retorted.

Crowley narrowed his eyes even more, sighing sarcastically. “Who the hell do you think, angel. I’m alone.”

Aziraphale frowned for a second, staring incomprehensibly. Then his bright eyes widened, and he giggled, covering his mouth with his hands.

“Crowley…you weren’t really talking to the _cat_ , were you?” When he received no answer, he burst into loud laughter, chortling hysterically. Crowley stared stoically, ignoring the angel in front of him.

Eventually, Aziraphale wiped the tears from his eyes, and stopped laughing, for which Crowley was very grateful for.

“Oh, who would have thought it?” he exclaimed. “Crowley, deadly demon, talking to his _cat!_ ”

Seeing Crowley’s embarrassment, Aziraphale smiled. “Relax, my dear. I won’t tell anyone. Besides, I think it’s rather cute.”

Crowley frowned in distaste. “But I don’t want to be _cute,_ ” he snapped. “I want to be evil.”

Aziraphale beamed fondly, then suddenly sneezed. A pink tinge appeared on his cheeks.

“Okay, you’re right,” he admitted. “I am allergic to cats.”


End file.
